


Red Cane

by IndigoFudge



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Beverly Marsh is a Good Friend, Chronic Pain, Disabled Character, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, M/M, Panic Attacks, Wedding Night, Weddings, i used too many, sorry someone's going to have to take my italics permit away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26462887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoFudge/pseuds/IndigoFudge
Summary: Eddie has a panic attack on his wedding day. Bev is a Good Friend.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	Red Cane

**Author's Note:**

> TW - some internalized ableism. He gets over it.

Eddie Kaspbrak sits in the spare room, shaking. His right leg has gone numb for the second time in a week and he has to use his cane. But he doesn't _want_ to use his cane. He's not supposed to walk down the aisle while clutching at a red cane, limping every step of the way. He's _supposed_ to walk down on his own without any help. He's sick and tired of needing help, absolutely sick and tired of it. And now his anxiety is acting up. Things are not going right at all. Everything has to be Perfect. Everything has to be Just Right. Just Right does not include having a panic attack on a futon while staring at tacky wallpaper. 

It was fine up until half an hour ago. He'd gotten his tuxedo on and fixed his tie, but suddenly he couldn't feel his toes and then he couldn't feel his right foot and the next thing he knew he was on the ground. (Luckily he didn't rip the suit. It had been expensive.) _Not now,_ he'd thought. _Please not now. This can't happen on my wedding day. Any other day, sure. I'd be okay if it happened tomorrow. But today? I don't want to have to walk down the aisle in front of everybody like this. Half of the people coming today don't even know I_ use _a cane, for fuck's sake._

He sets his jaw. No crying today. He's not a pussy that cries on his wedding day, especially for shit that he's already talked about in therapy. He should be fine by now about the whole chronic pain thing! Valerie had worked with him about accepting the fact that he sometimes can't use his right leg. Richie had worked with him about it, too. _But_ he didn't like the color of his cane. _But_ he couldn't go to work some days. _But_ he was supposed to be able to walk. But, but, _but._ Eddie Kaspbrak is not the type of person to take things at face value. Eddie Kaspbrak is the type of person who threw a fencepost into the gaping maw of a clown in order to save the love of his life. With this, though? Eddie has had enough.

Enough of the hospital visits! Enough of the countless hours spent in physical therapy! Enough of the days where he can't even get out of bed! Enough of the nights where Richie has to massage feeling back into his numb right leg! Enough of the pain and the inconvenience and the stupid fucking red cane, the stupid fucking leg that won't fucking _work right_! 

Eddie realizes that he's been crying when he hears a knock at the door. "Eddie, honey?" It's Bev. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he forces himself to say. "I'm fine."

But Bev can see through his bullshit, and she comes in, closing the door quietly behind her. As soon as she sees Eddie's state, she runs over to the futon and kneels in front of him. "Eds, are you okay? What happened?"

 _Everything, Bev,_ he wants to tell her. _Everything happened. I'm a burden. Richie's just marrying me because he pities me. Who would want to marry someone like me? Who would willingly sign up for this? I can barely function._ It's not true, he _can_ function most of the time, but he should be able to function all of the time. He should be _normal._ He should be _healthy._ Instead, he says: "My leg. It's nothing, I'm fine, I've got it under control."

"Okay." Bev sits next to him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

".....Yeah." Eddie looks down at his fancy shoes. Heat blooms in his cheeks. "I don't want him to see me like this." The words come out in a whisper, a shameful admission.

Bev, for her part, does not make a pitying noise. "You know he loves you no matter what, right?" she says gently. "Nothing could change that. He doesn't care how you walk down the aisle, he's grateful that you're alive and breathing."

"I am too, Bev, I- I don't want to seem like I don't appreciate it, I really am happy to- to be here, or whatever." Eddie sighs, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "But just because Richie's glad I'm alive doesn't mean he should spend the rest of his life with me. That's a really big thing, I mean, what if he's only doing it because he feels bad for me? I don't want that, I don't want sympathy, especially not from him. He hardly ever jokes around with me the same way he used to. When we were at Jade of the Orient that night, we arm wrestled, but now it's like he thinks I'll break if he touches me."

"Richie's just..." Bev hesitates. "He's just scared. He stayed in your room the most when you were in the coma, he saw everything you went through, he really doesn't want anything to happen to you again. I'm sure things will be back to normal in no time."

Eddie shakes his head. "No, they won't, and the thing is... I'm not even sure I _want_ them to be back to normal. For all we know, I might actually get hurt if he touches me. I was just fucking _standing_ here and I fell and- and if that desk had been moved an inch to the right, I would have smacked my head against it and ended up in the hospital again with a concussion, or- or depending on the angle, _blindness!_ I'd go blind if I hit the back of my head hard enough, that's where my occipital lobe is, that's what lets me see! You know how my Ma would tell me that I'm weak and need to be protected? Well, turns out that does something to a person after years of hearing the same thing over and over. I _am_ weak. I can't get it out of my fucking head, I can't- I can't think anything else. I'm weak and a coward and I can't do anything without help. I'm _sick_. That's what she said my whole life and now-" Eddie's voice breaks. "Now it's true more than ever. I finally escaped, I finally had something to live for, and I had to go and do something rash and now I'm-" He gestures wildly. 

Bev puts a comforting hand on his thigh. "Eds, you aren't weak, we could never think of you as weak. You're the bravest one out of all of us. You saved Richie's life down there." She furrows her brows. "You saved _all_ of our asses. You told us how to kill It, remember? Even though you had a hole in your chest, you still found the energy to show off and brag about how you nearly killed the leper."

 _Is she right?_ Eddie thinks. A bit of a warmth spreads in his chest. "I did do that, you're right." He musters up some courage, but it quickly evaporates as he reaches out and fingers the rubber handle of his cane. "But there are a lot of people out there, and- and- they don't know I use a cane, they'll be confused and I'll have to explain and it'll be embarrassing for everyone involved. Maybe- let's just call the wedding off. We can do that, right? It's not too late? We'll wait and do it tomorrow. My leg will be better by then." He's not making any sense, he knows that, but _fuck_ he can't go out there in front of everybody and kiss Richie if his leg doesn't even work properly. 

"You're not cancelling the damn wedding," she says. "And these people won't give a shit if you're walking with a cane or not. They came here to see some _action!_ " Bev gets a sparkle in her eyes and playfully pushes him, only a little, but it's enough. (God, he misses when Richie would do that all the time.) 

"I know." He looks her in the eyes, smiling resignedly. "Guess I'd better go out there and make out with my boyfriend, huh?"

"Soon-to-be _husband."_ Bev gives him a peck on the cheek, patting his thigh once before standing up. "I'll be waiting, Eddie. Knock 'em dead!" She flashes a thumbs up and leaves.

Sighing, Eddie closes his fingers around the handle of the cane and observes it. _Richie loves me,_ he thinks. _He's not marrying me out of pity._ _He stayed by my side for the months while I was bound to the hospital bed._ Eddie leans heavily on the cane as he stands up. _But what about the audience?_ His right leg is mostly dead weight, but he's starting to get some feeling back into it; can maneuver it enough to perform some facsimile of walking. _Ah, fuck them. If they care, if they laugh, it doesn't matter. This is_ my _day, they don't get to steal it from me._ He looks in the mirror, adjusting his tie once more. "Knock 'em dead," he repeats, smile growing. Then slowly but surely he walks out of the room.

(For what it's worth, no one laughs. They cheer when Eddie and Richie kiss; clap when the two husbands hold hands and pump their fists in the air. And Richie? He didn't think it was possible to love Eddie even more. But the second he saw him with those big brown doe eyes, gripping the handle of the cane like a life preserver, taking small steps down the aisle and grinning that dopey grin that showed off his dimples.... Richie fell in love all over again.)


End file.
